HoleCon1
by Sheryl Nantus
Summary: Ever wonder if Wormhole X-treme got on the air? Did it succeed? Did conventions spring up…


Title: HoleCon-1 (1/1)  
Author: Sheryl Martin/Nantus  
Email: xfdragon@zoominternet.net  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of MGM, World   
Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for   
entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was   
intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted   
to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not   
intended by the author.  
Archive: anywhere you want! Helio, S/JD... anyone wants it, help yourself!  
Rating: G, S/J humor, romance, kinda... ah, you know what I mean... I hope...  
Spoilers: Wormhole X-Treme, silly!  
Summary: Ever wonder if Wormhole X-treme got on the air? Did it succeed? Did conventions   
spring up…  
  
Author's note: Yes, I've been to a variety of conventions over the years - too many to   
count and too many to not see a lot of… oddities as well. Let's just say "been there,   
done that"; shall we?  
HoleCon-1 (1/1)  
By Sheryl Martin/Nantus  
  
As the screen went dark General Hammond looked around the table, focusing in on the man   
bent over in his chair; his hands over his face.  
  
"Colonel…"  
  
"Oh, sweet mercy…"  
  
"I need you to do this."  
  
"Why don't you just drop me in a Goa'uld stronghold with a butter knife?" O'Neill moaned,   
still covering his face.  
  
"Major…" Turning away from the near-comotose officer, he looked at the smiling woman.   
"You don't seem surprised at this."  
  
"Actually, sir…" Carter tried not to grin. "I've been following the show myself. It's   
going to be an… interesting gathering."  
  
A deep moan came from under the table.  
  
"You're a FAN of this show?" Hammond raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Well, not as much as some people, obviously…" Sam felt a low heat in her cheeks. "I   
catch it on the weekends when we're not working. Late at night. When there's nothing else   
to do."  
  
"I'm afraid to ask how little you have to do that you feel you have time to watch shows   
like this." The General looked down at his papers. "We've had no other problems with   
Martin Lloyd since our last meeting and the present administration still agrees that it   
provides the Air Force with plausable denibility for dealing with leaks in SGC." He   
picked up a brochure. "But this is their first convention and we'd like to make sure that   
there's nothing… out of the ordinary."  
  
"Other than a roomful of losers whining about how their mothers don't let them borrow the   
car." O'Neill finally pulled his fingers away from his face. "I'm sure Major Carter can   
handle this by herself, General."  
  
"Probably." He smiled. "But I want her to have backup in case something does happen. With   
Teal'c on a few days personal leave I don't want her going in there alone."  
  
"Please tell me you're not going to wear a costume." O'Neill looked over at her.  
  
"Don't worry, sir." She smiled. "The costume contest is Saturday night."   
  
Hammond stifled a laugh as another moan rolled around the briefing room.  
  
**************  
  
"The freak show begins…" O'Neill adjusted his sunglasses as he got out of the car,   
looking around the nearly-full hotel parking lot. "I can't believe this show survived."  
  
"People enjoy it, sir." Carter tugged at her dark blue windbreaker. "'Treemers aren't   
that bad - I've been talking to quite a few of them online." She paused. "All in the name   
of research, of course."  
  
"'Treemers?"  
  
"That's what they call themselves."   
  
"Wonderful." He motioned towards the front of the hotel. "Why am I not surprised?"  
  
"Sir, all these people do have real lives. They have careers, friends, family…" She   
paused as a man walked by, his face painted green as the skin-tight orange spandex suit   
left nothing to their imaginations other than where the peacock feathers were glued. "And   
I think you're being a bit judgemental…"  
  
"I think we've just stepped into La La Land, Carter. And don't call me sir while we're   
here - I'd hate to have any of these people use me for a job reference." Slipping his   
glasses into his leather jacket pocket, he stepped up to the large table labled   
'Registeration'. "How much for a one day pass to this… event?"  
  
"Only ten dollars." The perky redhead looked up at him. "Would you like to sign up for   
our newsletter? Or for the Masquarade tomorrow night?"  
  
"Ah… no." O'Neill smiled broadly as he scribbled on the information card. "We're just   
visiting for the day."  
  
"Sure, no problem." The woman looked at Sam, standing to one side. "We do have a special   
price for a family membership."  
  
Jack looked back beside him, momentarily confused.   
  
"We're not…" Sam made a vague gesture with her hands. "Sam Carter - actually, I'm pre-  
registered."  
  
O'Neill's eyebrows soared skyward, his eyes rolling back to match.  
  
"Ah, here we are…" Pulling a card from the small cardholder to one side, the redhead   
passed over two stuffed manila envelopes. "Your video listings are in there; special   
coupons for the dealers' room; autograph session details and a map of the hotel   
convention rooms. That's for you, and here's yours Mr… Solo." Carter rolled her eyes as   
O'Neill fastened the nametag to his jacket with a flourish and a smile. "Enjoy HoleCon-  
1!"  
  
"Oh, I'm sure we will…" He beamed as Sam winced, pulling him away from the registeration   
desk.  
  
"Please, sir… behave yourself…" It was more of a question than a statement as she led him   
towards the dealers' room.  
  
"Carter, this is…" He shook his head as a couple strolled by, resplite in Wormhole   
Extreme uniforms. "This is beyond what I can deal with."  
  
"Excuse me?" She smiled as she tugged on his sleeve towards the Dealers' Room,   
brilliantly decorated with a makeshift Gate made out of construction paper and lots of   
liberally applied white glue. "Years in Special Ops; years of Gating and you can't deal   
with a few… eccentric fans?"  
  
"Rather be mudwrestling Hathor…" He grumbled as he allowed himself to be led into the   
converted ballroom.   
  
"Keep an open mind si… Jack." Carter motioned at the first table and a gaudy display of   
jewelry. "It's not that much different than any shopping mall or craft show or…" Her   
voice trailed off as they both stopped suddenly, staring at a chain mail bikini daintily   
displayed on a mannequin.   
  
"Ooh…" He exhaled. "You may be onto something here, Carter…" With a wide grin he tilted   
his head to one side. "Your costume anything like this?"  
  
Her face a bright red she released his sleeve, stepping to one side. "Ah… I'll look over   
this side of the room and meet you in a bit…"   
  
"Sure…" O'Neill chuckled to himself as she disappeared down one long aisle, looking over   
the various exhibits.  
  
"Can I help you with something, sir?" The dealer got to his feet, stroking his long grey   
beard. "Something for your girlfriend, perhaps?" He waved a hand over the various chain   
mail items on his table. "All handmade…"  
  
********************  
  
"I can't believe this…" Sam picked up a blister pack, staring at the small action figure   
inside. "Colonel Danning…"  
  
"Fully articulated." The young woman behind the table chirped happily. "We have Dr.   
Monroe as well - although we're all out of Grell; seems he's quite popular with the   
ladies."  
  
"Ah…" She put the figure down. "And Dr. Trevant?"  
  
"Can't keep him in stock…"   
  
*********************  
  
"You're kidding…" O'Neill ran his hand along the edge of the sword blade. "Only two   
hundred?"  
  
"Well, I wouldn't try and take someone's head off with it." The freshly-shaven bald man   
chuckled loudly. "But it'll look good on your wall. Or a present for that friend who you   
can't find anything else for."  
  
"Do you gift-wrap?"  
  
*********************  
  
"Three volumes?"   
  
The middle-aged woman nodded, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind one ear. "That's for   
this series alone." She waved a hand over the tableful of photocopied books. "Now, we   
have a Marriage series that goes over a single issue, or the rather raunchy stuff…"  
  
"Really…" Carter flipped open to a random page. "Oh… the Colonel and Monroe?"  
  
"They're the hot couple, after all…" She frowned. "Well, one of them anyway…"  
  
"Finished getting your souvenirs, Carter?"   
  
Sam spun around, clutching the thick book to her chest. "Ah…"  
  
"What's this?" Resting the long thin box over one shoulder, he flipped open one of the   
table display copies, noting that the amateur artwork was better than some so-called   
professional book covers he had seen lately. "Fan… fic?"  
  
The blonde woman beamed. "The continuing saga and ongoing trials and tribulations of our   
favorite X-treme teams!"  
  
"Ah…" O'Neill glanced down, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Between the Colonel   
and his girl?"  
  
"Actually, those there are between Danning and Dr. Trevant…"  
  
Sam winced as the shout echoed throughout the room.  
  
**************  
  
"I can't believe you bought those."  
  
"I can't believe you bought a sword." Carter looked at the program book. "There's a   
General Welcome Roll Call in Pod Room A in twenty minutes. Martin Lloyd's going to be   
there - we should check it out just in case." She glanced inside her plastic bag.   
"Besides, it's research material."  
  
"Just tell me you didn't get any of THOSE." O'Neill gave a shudder. "Let's get this over   
with. If I'm lucky I can call Hammond and order an air strike on this hotel before the   
infestation grows."  
  
"Sir, it's fun for these people. Something to take their minds off of their boring,   
humdrum lives." Sam led him into the room. "I mean, it's all…" She paused, seeing the   
hundreds of people crammed into the conference area. "Fun…"  
  
Suddenly the lights dimmed at the front of the room on the makeshift stage; the crowd   
going silent as a single figure walked to the podium.  
  
"Are you ready to go to the EXXXXTTTRRREEEMMMMEEE!!!" The young man shrieked, waving his   
arms up and down.  
  
The crowd roared their approval, Sam and Jack nonwithstanding.  
  
"Are you ready to go into the WORRMMHHOOLLLEEE!!!!"  
  
"This is embarassing…" O'Neill leaned over to Carter, having to put his lips close to her   
ear to be heard over the roar.  
  
"It's entertainment, sir…" She yelled back as the host bellowed another battle cry.  
  
"It's… something, that's for sure." He shook his head. Suddenly another figure appeared   
at the podium, catching their attention.  
  
Martin Lloyd smiled broadly, waving at the crowd. His glasses were gone, replaced by   
contact lenses and a smart leather jacket.   
  
"Oh, my…" Sam exhaled.  
  
"That's Hollywood for you." Jack chuckled as he watched the deliriously happy man stand   
there, unable to speak as wave after wave of applause rolled over him. Finally the crowd   
quieted down enough for him to speak.  
  
"Thank you, but let me bring out the real stars of the show…" Lloyd shouted into the   
microphone, overtaxing the sound system once again. "Your Colonel…" Nick Marlowe bounded   
onto the stage, the Wormhole X-Treme uniform at least one size too small. "The sexy yet   
professional Stacy Monroe!" Yolanda Reese strutted out from the right side of the stage,   
wearing a uniform that was at least TWO sizes too small.   
  
"And his uniform still doesn't say 'Colonel' anywhere…" Carter laughed softly as the   
crowd surged forward, cameras going off in a deluge of flash fire.  
  
"Let's get out of here, Carter - we'll grab Martin after the circus winds down a bit."   
O'Neill bellowed, pointing towards the door.  
  
*****************  
  
"Two…" He sighed deeply. "…Grell-Buster platters, please… diet soda for her, the real   
stuff for me." The Colonel handed over the menus. The small hotel café had also been   
invaded by the Wormhole X-treme fans; banners and specials etched in fluorescent ink on   
any open space.   
  
"Sir, there's a panel at two this afternoon…" She pointed at the small print in the   
photocopied booklet. "'The Truth Behind The Wormhole - What The Government Doesn't Want   
You To Know.'"  
  
"Hmm." Taking it from her he stared at the miniscule type. "Marty's on the panel. Might   
behoove us to drop on by and make sure that he's still keeping his story straight." He   
paused as a couple walked by the table, their Wormhole X-Treme uniforms bad copies of bad   
copies of what possibly could be second-hand rejects of their own uniforms. "Of course,   
plausable deniability isn't hard with this crowd."  
  
****************  
  
The small room was overflowing with fans, forcing the couple to the back of the room and   
standing against the wall. Sticking his hands in his pockets, O'Neill let out a weary   
sigh.   
  
"Crackpot Central, Carter." He cheerfully nodded as another three people slid by them to   
jam the room even tighter. "Betcha these people haven't moved out of their parents'   
basement yet."  
  
"Don't forget - Daniel was one of these 'crackpots', sir." She whispered with a sly   
smile. "One of these could very well be his successor."  
  
"Thanks for the pep talk." He leaned towards her. "I'll make sure that General Hammond   
puts you on the next Area 51 PR group."  
  
Her scowl only made him smile wider as they both watched Marty enter from a side door.   
Walking briskly to a small table set up at the front of the room, he took a seat to the   
side, nodding to the single guest.   
  
"Friends, welcome to a panel whose existence we've kept secret from everyone other than   
you, the registered Treemers who want to know the truth!" The host from the original   
introduction jumped for the microphone, waving it around like a machine gun. Marty, for   
his part, just sat quietly with a pasted smile on his face.  
  
"We've collected experts from various fields to tell you why there COULD be a Wormhole   
program; why there SHOULD be a Wormhole program and maybe… just maybe… prove that there   
IS a Wormhole program going on right now, under our noses!" The wild-eyed host passed the   
microphone to a middle-aged man sitting next to Lloyd, sporting a long ponytail and a   
slim goatee.  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Information." He shuffled a pile of papers in front of him. "It's a   
pleasure to be here and to be finally taken seriously."  
  
"Here it comes…" O'Neill sighed dramatically.  
  
"About twenty years ago, when I was in college I had the most extraordinary experience…"  
  
*****************  
  
"Gee, I'm glad we came for this." Jack deadpanned as they exited the room two hours   
later. "Just think, we could have missed listening to StarBoy there talk about his   
mystical experiences with peyote and how the wild animals drew circles in the sand that   
represented Wormholes… or just liked to draw circles in the sand."  
  
Sam let out a chuckle as she stopped in the corridor, letting the rest of the crowd surge   
by them. "It did seem a bit… fanciful, I'll give you that."  
  
"Fanciful is a nice way to put it." Adjusting his baseball cap he shook his head. "Let's   
just talk to Marty and make sure these guys are all nicely misinformed."  
  
"Well, he didn't say anything at the panel." Carter grimaced as a rather robust woman   
pushed by them, drawing O'Neill's attention for a split second. "He just said that it was   
all based on a story he wrote years ago and just got lucky."  
  
"Yep, well… let's just make sure he keeps humming that tune for a bit longer, shall we?"   
He jerked a thumb back towards the near-empty room.  
  
Martin Lloyd stood at the front of the room, signing autographs for a pair of giggling   
teenagers. He beamed at them, not noticing O'Neill and Carter.  
  
"I think you need to get the Colonel and Monroe together." One blonde tittered while the   
other one nodded vigorously. "I mean, it's just obvious that they need to get together…"  
  
"An astute observation." O'Neill announced in a stage whisper. Lloyd looked up suddenly,   
his eyes narrowing as he tried to place the familiar face. A dark blush ran over his face   
as he routed the mental photographs to the right names.   
  
"Colonel…" He glanced down at the name tag. "Solo?"  
  
"Marty… let's talk for a bit…" Taking the surprised man's elbow, O'Neill maneuvered him   
away from the stunned girls and into the back room that doubled as a waiting room for the   
guests.   
  
"Hey, it's great to see you!" He smiled at Carter. "Ooh… I like your new hairstyle!"  
  
"Marty, good to see you as well. We were just wondering…" The Colonel waved a hand at the   
bustling crowd in the hallway. "I know this fame and fortune is all great, but…" He   
raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh… OH!" His eyes darted back and forth between the SG-1 members. "Oh, nothing! I swear…   
nothing… nothing!"  
  
"It's okay, Marty…" Jack took a step back, seeing the panicky look on his face. "We're   
not accusing you of anything; we just thought we'd stop on by and take stock of the   
situation."  
  
"Oh, good…" He took a deep breath, rubbing his stomach. "The doctors say I may be   
developing an ulcer. They say to slow down. They don't understand this business… you   
can't slow down; ever!"  
  
"Just relax." Sam patted his arm. "We just wanted to stop on by and make sure that you   
weren't being… bothered by anyone."  
  
"No, no one. Not since we got that 'footage'." He beamed. "Did you see that we scooped   
the Emmy for special effects for that one?"  
  
"Ah, no." Jack said calmly. "But good to hear it."  
  
"That got us renewal for a second year. And this convention, well…" He smiled widely,   
nodding his head up and down. "It's just great, isn't it?"  
  
"Wonderful." O'Neill replied. "We loved the dealers' room."  
  
"Isn't it great?" Now totally at ease, Lloyd let out a chuckle. "Did you see those dolls?   
Ah, 'action figures' they call them now… just too cool! We can't keep them in stock!"  
  
"Yes, well…" Carter interrupted him, seeing O'Neill's eyes beginning to glaze over. "We   
just wanted to say hello and make sure that things were fine."  
  
"Oh, certainly! Any time!" Marty dug into his pockets. "I have tickets here to the   
Masquarade tomorrow night as well as the special banquet on Sunday…"  
  
"Ah, we won't be able to stay that long." Jack shrugged. "Duty calls and all that… Good   
to see you again - keep in touch and let us know how things go."  
  
"You sure you don't want to step up when we do the evening discussion session? I'm sure   
that Nick won't mind you being there…" His eyes went wide. "We can add you two to the   
program as official Air Force advisors! It'd be great!"  
  
O'Neill glanced at his watch. "Oh, man… look at the time." He shook his head. "We'd love   
to, but we just can't make the time right now. Places to do, things to go and all that."   
Taking Carter's arm he hipchecked her towards the door. "Glad to hear you're doing well   
and we'll catch up with you soon…"  
  
******************  
  
"So tell me…" Sam grinned as the truck pulled up in front of her house. "How bad was   
that, really?"  
  
"Let's just say that I stick to my original choice of being dropped into a Goa'uld   
stronghold with a spoon."  
  
"You said butter knife." Opening the door she reached for her overnight bag.   
  
"Since when do you EVER remember what I say?" He chuckled. "I'm glad we didn't get   
checked at the airport - I'd hate to have to explain those 'books' in your luggage."  
  
"Unlike the sword, I assume." Sam snorted as she closed the car door, leaning in through   
the open window. "I saw you flash your ID more than once to make sure that got through   
just fine."  
  
"Hey, had to make some use of this rank." Jack shrugged. "Not like anybody else remembers   
it, hmm?" He looked at his watch. "See you at work tomorrow. I expect the General will   
want a full report on this… event."  
  
"Be nice, sir." She warned. "Remember, different strokes…"  
  
"Oh, don't go there." He grimaced, then smiled. "Although I wonder what you would have   
worn to the Masquarade…"  
  
Feeling a warm flush spread across her face, Carter retreated to the safety of the   
sidewalk. "Ah… I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"Affirmative, Major Carter." With a sly wink he drove away.  
  
Sam frowned as she searched for her house keys, unlocking the front door easily. "What is   
he up to…" After checking her answering machine and clearing away the email spam on her   
laptop she finally moved to the bedroom to unpack her overnight bag. Usually it held   
nothing more than the bare minimum, but she had packed her purchases from the convention   
in there as well; adding a few pounds.  
  
Except there was an extra bag.  
  
Sitting on the edge of the bed she turned it over and over in her hand, feeling the   
weight of it. Carefully pulling open the bag she looked at the tissue paper, tugging it   
away easily. A handwritten note taped to the top of the small parcel drew her attention.  
  
"Next year maybe we'll make the costume ball."  
  
O'Neill's handwriting. He must have tucked it into her luggage sometime while they were   
travelling. Well, he WAS Special Ops retired, after all.  
  
The last piece of paper fell away to reveal the smallest, the daintiest, the most… slinky   
chain mail bikini she had ever seen. Another note was taped to the non-existent top.  
  
"Or if you ever go fishing with me. Catch a big one with this bait, you will."  
  
*****************  
  
O'Neill grinned widely as he drew the samurai sword out of the scabbard, waving it   
experimentally in the air. He didn't spend much on toys, but the price was right on this   
one, even if it wasn't authentic.  
  
As for other toys… well, he wasn't any investment expert, but he figured this one could   
only get better with age.  
  
-----------------------------the end----------------------------------- 


End file.
